Unlike Roland, who was on full alert, the white-robed figure paid the recent attack no mind at all.
He slowly extended a long, scarlet tongue, deliberately licking his chapped lips like a gourmand preparing for a grand feast.
His golden eyes, shimmering with an eerie light, were locked onto the young man before him, churning with an irrepressible desire.
"I don't know what gutter that fool Morne is hiding in, trembling in fear, but..."
The white-robed figure's gaze greedily swept over Roland's entire body.
The pine-straight spine, the broad, powerful shoulders, the well-defined muscles.
Every inch of him was a delicacy the figure coveted.
Recalling Roland's heroic figure in battle at the Black Water Manor, he gave an imperceptible nod, the corner of his mouth beneath the hood curling into a strange arc.
"Compared to that waste Gavin's son... this little one is simply... too perfect..."
